


Oz Wishing Well Drabbles 1-10

by Severina



Category: Oz (1997)
Genre: Community: oz_wishing_well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-19
Updated: 2010-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-09 18:59:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>10 Drabbles written for the Oz Drabble Tree at LJ's Oz Wishing Well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oz Wishing Well Drabbles 1-10

**01.  
Title/Prompt:** Empty Silence  
**Timeframe:** Season Five  
**Written:** January 20, 2009  
**Authors Note:** My very first piece of Oz fanfic. Yeeeek.  
**Word Count:** 100

LoPresti wheels a portable television set into the hallway; smirks as Keller watches the inauguration. The picture on the tiny set flickers -- reception must suck ass in protective custody -- but Keller still catches the glint in Toby's eyes. When Toby looks directly at the camera, Keller instinctively shies away. LoPresti finally turns off the set, and Keller hears phantom rhymes in the empty silence.

He wonders why Beecher doesn't have a beard.

Keller awakens slick with sweat. There is nothing amusing about the dream, but in the cold darkness of his cell, breathing heavily, he tries to pretend there is.

 

**02.  
Title/Prompt:** A Shiver Down His Spine  
**Timeframe:** Post-Oz  
**Written:** January 08, 2010  
**Word Count:** 100

Tim's spent his whole life building castles out of playing cards. When someone knocks them down, he squares his shoulders and builds them right back up again.

He stands well behind the yellow crime tape, ignores the news crews, and tries to tell himself that he'll rebuild this, too. Find the right programs, the right mix of prisoners…

He doesn't know Sean is there until the hand touches his arm.

The simple touch sends a shiver down his spine, a quickening in his chest that he can't even try to pretend he doesn't feel.

Anyway, Tim is tired of pretending.

 

**03.  
Title/Prompt:** A Shot at Freedom  
**Timeframe:** Season Six AU   
**Written:** January 11, 2010  
**Word Count:** 100

There's no way to wrap your head around eighty-eight years. Ten, even twenty years -- those are understandable, quantifiable. But eight-eight? Might as well say a million.

It takes time, but eventually I adjusted my mindset, reconciled myself to sleeping, shitting, jerking off (but probably not dying) in an eight-by-ten cell. So when Beecher tells me I got a shot at freedom, the first thing I feel is fucking pissed off. He's got no right coming in here, holding out hope like it's a blessing.

Hope stinks, clings to clothes likes Beecher's father's cologne.

In prison, hope gets you killed.

 

**04.  
Title/Prompt:** An Order  
**Timeframe:** Season Six  
**Written:** January 15, 2010  
**Word Count:** 100

"And for you, sir?"

Toby looks up, menu slick in sweaty palms. "I'll have the… uh…"

He's spent the last twenty minutes practically memorizing the menu, mesmerized by the vast array of choices, and now he stammers, turns wide unblinking eyes up to the little college girl in her crisp white blouse with her pen poised -- oh fuck he wanted an order of -- he'd thought something sounded particular appealingly, but -- shit!

Angus tries to rescue him. "Didn't you say lobst--"

"Chicken nuggets!" Toby blurts out.

Call him predictable. There is such a thing as too many options.

 

**05.  
Title/Prompt:** Argument  
**Timeframe:** Season Four  
**Written:** January 11, 2010  
**Word Count:** 100

"You're a real piece of work, Keller," Beecher sneered, pushing him roughly away. "After what you did today, you think you're going to fuck me?"

Beecher slammed out of the pod, ignoring the stares of the inmates. "Go fuck yourself!" he shouted over his shoulder as he stalked away.

Rebadow raised a brow. "Quite the argument," he said.

O'Reily sidled up to Keller, leaned against the glass. "What the fuck was that about?"

Keller scrubbed a hand over his jaw, mentally reviewed the day's events. Finally he shrugged. "No fucking idea," he said. He glanced at O'Reily. "Game of chess?"

 

**06.  
Title/Prompt:** Bastard  
**Timeframe:** Season Three  
**Written:** January 15, 2010  
**Word Count:** 100

I've done everything I can. I confessed. I plotted. I took a shank for him -- maybe even by him. I let him hit me, humiliate me, and twist me around, and I took it and followed him like a bitch. All because I knew that eventually he'd figure out that I wouldn't have done all that shit if I wasn't truly sorry. If I didn't truly love him.

And it's going to come to nothing if he keeps listening to Said, that sanctimonious bastard.

I have to find O'Reily. Take care of this little problem.

It's for Toby's own good.

 

**07.  
Title/Prompt:** Buckingham Palace  
**Timeframe:** Pre-Oz  
**Written:** January 08, 2010  
**Word Count:** 200

Tim's gaze flits over the overstuffed sofa, the television propped in the corner, the open pizza box on the island that separates the tiny kitchen from the living room. Sean grabs up the remote and mutes the sound, hastily shuffles some sports magazines and a couple of empties from the chair.

"This is nice," Tim says.

Sean shrugs. "It ain't exactly Buckingham Palace, but I like it."

"I can't believe I've never been here before."

"I gotta admit, Tim, I'm a little surprised you're here now."

"Well." Tim swipes a hand through what's left of his hair. "I was in the neighbourhood."

"Tim," Sean says, "I've lived here for three years. You haven't been 'in the neighbourhood' even once."

"Yeah," Tim snipes, "I suck as a friend. I get it. Never mind, I'm gone. Enjoy your pizza!"

Sean holds up a hand. "Tim."

Tim flops down on the sofa as though pushed. Holds his head in his hands. "Ellie kicked me out," he mumbles.

The sofa dips, then Sean's arm is around his neck.

"You can have the sofa," Sean says.

"Only for a few days," Tim says.

"No problem," Sean says. "I'm here. As long as you need me."

 

**08.  
Title/Prompt:** Die in Oz  
**Timeframe:** Season Four  
**Written:** January 18, 2010  
**Word Count:** 150

Chris is going to die in Oz.

Toby lays awake at night sometimes, ass and hamstrings still pleasantly aching, and watches the scene play out on the backs of his eyelids: sees the hand reaching out toward Chris, watches the way the shank slides into Chris's flesh like butter, smells the hot spill of blood.

Sometimes the hand belongs to Schillinger. Sometimes Robson.

Sometimes he sees his own face.

On those nights he gets up and squats by Chris's bunk, watches the rise and fall of his chest. Remembers the way Chris's nimble fingers skate across his skin, the things Chris murmurs hungrily in his ear. He skims his palm over Chris's chest, leans down to feel the puff of Chris's breath on his cheek.

He swears silently that he will never be responsible for snuffing out this life. His reaching hand will never be the last thing Chris sees.

 

**09.  
Title/Prompt:** Excited Gasp  
**Timeframe:** Season Four  
**Written:** January 15, 2010  
**Word Count:** 100

I can't stop touching him.

It's about being able to smell his hair when he leans across the chess board, and about running my fingernails down his arm when he stands at the sink brushing his teeth. It's about seeing the way he shivers at my touch and looks at me with those wide, trusting eyes. It's about every excited gasp and breathless moan that I can wring from him with my hands, my mouth, my dick.

It's the way he says my name.

Chris.

Like I'm something special.

It's about making him mine. But mostly, it's about being his.

 

**10.  
Title/Prompt:** Fight  
**Timeframe:** Season Two  
**Written:** January 19, 2010  
**Word Count:** 150

Beecher flips pages briskly, each snap of paper working Keller's last nerve. Finally he can't take it anymore.

"What's up your ass?" he asks. "You been prickly all day."

For a moment Beecher stares daggers, clearly itching for a fight, but when Keller just looks back placidly Beecher flops back in his chair.

"I don't know what happened to my dog," he mutters.

"Your dog." Keller scratches his chin. "Your parents probably took him."

"Her," Beecher corrects. "And no. Dog hair on the furniture?" He sniffs. "They'd never allow it."

"You miss her, huh?"

"I guess so. Beautiful Husky. Genevieve didn't want a dog, but the kids fell in love with her." He smiles. "I guess I did too."

Keller cocks his head, considers his audience. "Your wife probably wanted to be the only bitch in the house."

When Beecher snorts out a laugh, Keller leans back, grins. Mission accomplished.


End file.
